After Hours
by CWprodigy
Summary: Munch likes him because he can put up with his shit. Very few people could. His ex-wives certainly couldn't. Fin can on a good day. But really is there ever a good day working in the 16th precinct? Huang/Munch friendship. Could be slash if you squint.


Munch likes him because he can put up with his shit. Very few people could. His ex-wives certainly couldn't. Fin can on a good day. But really is there ever a _good_ day working in the 16th precinct?

Decidedly not, Munch thinks, finishing up a slew of reports after hours. Even the custodians have gone home. He knows he's not too far from retirement but that won't make him lazy. Perhaps he's overcompensating.

"Best to leave the analysis to the shrink," he mumbles. The shrink who happens to be the only other person there. He's housed himself upstairs, most likely fiddling around with his own case files and backlogged paper work.

Munch is deep into a report, trying to recall a beat cop's name when he hears the other occupant come down the stairs, the old wood creaking ominously as he does so. He watches the doctor slip between the shadows, a preoccupied look on his face as he walks sleepily to the coffeepot.

He's wearing a pair of dress slacks and a sweater vest, his hair just a bit too long but Much likes it that way, the slight college kid bangs. A quiet yawn escapes his lips as he takes the pot off the burner and pours it disgusting contents into one of their shared mugs.

"And here I thought I was the only one burning the midnight oil these days," Munch drawls, smirking a little as the other man jumps slightly.

"We can't all have lives John," Huang replies, pouring sugar then turning to smile at him, matching his dry tone perfectly with the other man's.

That's what Munch likes. That they can go tit for tat.

"Best to leave it to the young," Much says, peering at him over the rim of his glasses. The doctor certainly looks tired. Earlier, a child, a victim, cried into Huang's chest for over an hour. The doctor never stopped stroking his hair, rubbing his back, telling him he was okay.

Munch likes that too. That caring doesn't take as much out of him as it does himself.

Huang takes a sip of his coffee, grimaces, then takes another sip. "I wouldn't go that far," he says teasingly, "Unless, of course, you're talking about yourself?"

Much chuckles, a rare sound of genuine amusement. George matches it with a smile of his own, walking over and perching himself on the edge of his desk. The close, in the dull lamplight, the doctor's brown eyes are warm and bright. His messy bangs make him look more boyish, less serious than he normally is.

"You're not old John," he says and takes another sip. That was the doc for ya, cutting to the chase with his blistering accuracy.

"You can't deny I've been around the block a couple times too many," Munch murmurs before taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. He looks up at the other man with a faint smile. "It's the end of the road for me, doc."

"It's the end of this particular road," George amends, leaning closer. "But that doesn't mean it's the end of your life."

And Munch nearly says _this job is my life_ but that would be much too intimate, even for late night office conversations like the one they're having now.

"This job isn't your life," Huang says as if he had said it anyway and Munch gives him a guarded but grateful look. "Yes it was a big part of it but the family you built transcends this office."

"And are you?" Munch asks, clearing his throat to avoid the sudden swell of emotion. "Part of my family I mean?" he elaborates at the doctor's confused expression.

George looks taken aback, completely bewildered. A phone chimes and they both jump, as if they've nearly been caught doing something very intimate. And perhaps they have.

Huang mumbles an apology, talks briefly into his phone about being finished in the next half hour and an overdue profile before putting it back in his pocket.

"Seems I _was_ only talking about myself," Munch mumbles quietly and Huang offers him the softest look he's ever seen.

Munch watches him get up and drain the coffee before going upstairs resuming his work. It's a good half hour of quiet after that, the occasional scuffling upstairs being more of a comfort than a distraction.

Files fall to his desk with a thud. Munch looks up, another sarcastic remark on the tip of his tongue. But he sees the doctor's face, hesitant but open.

"You never did answer my question," Munch says, mostly to tease but partially because he wants an honest to god answer. Moments bleed into each other as Huang cocks his head to the side as if Munch is a puzzle worth solving. The detective is halfway finished forming a self-deprecating remark in his head to ease the tension.

But then the doctor's hands are cupping his cheeks and George's warm lips are being pressed to his forehead. Munch closes his eyes, letting out a long, soothed exhale.

This isn't a traditionally masculine way of showing affection, Munch thinks for a good split second, but then again neither man has ever been accused of being traditionally masculine.

"I'll always be your family," Huang says quietly, his heated breath ghosting over Munch's face. He finds himself covering the doctor's hands with his own, noting the doctor's are supple, his own roughened by winter and toil. They share a look of tenderness before Munch drops his hands and the doctor drops his.

He gathers his files and says softly, "Goodnight John."

"Night doc," Munch calls back just as softly, watching the doctor as he walks away, out the door and into the elevator. Then it's just him, alone in the squad room.

He finds himself whistling a tune from a musical both he and Huang like as he finishes his task.


End file.
